


At Least I Think I Do

by KrisStylinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fake Marriage, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:56:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisStylinson/pseuds/KrisStylinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s just supposed to be a prank. Harry isn’t supposed to be <i>okay</i> with the idea of accidentally marrying his best friend, or the fact that he’s woken up naked in bed with him the morning after. He’s supposed to freak out and maybe cry a bit until Louis finally takes pity on him and tells him it’s a joke. He’s not supposed to <i>like</i> it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least I Think I Do

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Dr. Phil and my favorite [De](http://iwillscreamuntilearsbleed.tumblr.com) for laughing at the titles with me until this idea was born!! This probably wouldn't have gotten done without your encouragement!
> 
> ♡ title from [How to Be a Heartbreaker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKNcuTWzTVw) by Marina and the Diamonds ♡

It’s quite possibly the most ingenious prank Louis has ever thought of. He almost feels guilty that sweet, innocent Harry has to be the victim, but then he remembers that sweet, innocent Harry wasn’t very sweet and innocent when he’d completed Zayn’s dare of stuffing Louis’ hairdryer with flour a few months ago. (This prank was definitely more than enough payback and may have taken a bit longer to think of than normal, but Louis told himself that he needed to wait anyway—to make sure Harry wouldn’t be suspicious when it happened, of course.)

 

He thinks of calling Zayn to get his help in completing it, but _fuck_ Zayn, he was the reason it was even happening. So he dials Liam’s number instead once Harry’s left the flat to go grocery shopping and asks him what his experience is in making fake marriage certificates. His reaction is a predictable groan.

 

“What would you even _need_ one for?”

 

“I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you,” Louis replies. Which isn’t a total lie. He couldn’t risk Liam spilling the details to anyone and ruining Louis Tomlinson’s Best Prank Ever.

 

He finds that Liam doesn’t have any knowledge on the matter (“Honestly, what _use_ are you?”) but he googles templates which are surprisingly easy to find. He shrugs off Liam’s questions of _why can’t_ you _do this?_ with a mumbled answer about how he can’t use their printer for it in case Harry finds it. It leads into a whole other round of questions about what Harry has to do with any of it, and Louis remembers that he’ll have to get their names on it anyway so it’s no use in trying to keep it from Liam any longer.

 

His reaction: another groan.

 

“That’s a low blow, mate. You know the boy’s already gone for you and you do _this_?”

 

Louis sighs into the phone. “I, in fact, know that he _isn’t_ gone for me and this is harmless.” His brain gets another idea and, really, Louis is just a _genius_ today. “And this will prove it. I’ll even bet on it.”

 

Liam isn’t the gambling type, never has been, but for some reason he says yes in an annoyingly cocky tone. Louis ignores it because he’ll be one hundred pounds richer in a matter of days.

 

And so the prank for Harry grows into a bet with Liam.

 

His next stop is a quick call to Niall and Zayn (even if Louis is mad at him, he can’t leave him out without breaking his own heart) asking them if they’re willing to meet at a local pub on Saturday. They both agree without questioning it— _minimizing the casualties already,_ Louis thinks proudly—and now all that’s left for him to do is to get Harry to agree, which hasn’t ever been a problem in the past.

 

When Harry arrives home with his freakishly long arms full of bags, Louis sets into action.

 

He begins by helping Harry put away groceries, which is a red flag to Harry in itself but it’s obvious he isn’t going to question it when Louis gives him a quiet but intimidating look. He waits until Harry’s moved on to the canned goods to make his move.

 

“We’re going out with the lads Saturday,” he says. Harry examines two cans of something that Louis can’t make out and replies, “Okay,” without a fight as always.

 

And thus, Louis Tomlinson’s Best Prank Ever has officially begun.

 

~~~

 

The certificate looks _real_ —real enough that the first time Louis sees it, he’s scared that Liam’s dug up an _actual_ marriage certificate between he and Harry that they’d somehow gotten and _for_ gotten about.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Louis mutters as he examines it more closely. He smiles when he can’t find any visible flaws (he’ll have to ask Liam how he’d learned to forge their signatures so well) and throws his arms around Liam’s neck. “I’m married!”

 

Liam wraps a single arm around him in spite of his claims that he still thinks the prank is too harsh. Louis teases him by asking if he wants out of the bet now.

 

“Definitely not,” Liam answers easily. “Can’t go back on my only chance to prove you wrong.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes, which is around the time Zayn shows up. “Where’s Harry?” He spots the paper in Louis’ hands. “Is that a marriage certificate?”

 

“In his room getting dressed. This is nothing,” Louis answers, hiding the paper behind his back. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go hide this nothing. Talk to our dear Liam.”

 

He hears Zayn asking what it was all about as he’s on his way to his room, to which Liam says it isn’t worth hearing. Louis has trained him well.

 

Harry’s out of his room by the time Niall shows up and Louis rushes them out the door, the adrenaline of a successful prank buzzing under his skin.

 

This part is easy, Louis decides. Let Harry get very drunk and pretend to be just as tipsy himself. It doesn’t take very long.

 

“Louis. _Louis._ Lou.” He’s got a habit of repeating himself when intoxicated. “Your—your blues. Very blue.”

 

Louis laughs. “My blues? I’m not sure what you mean, Harry.”

 

Instead of a verbal reply, Harry reaches up and pokes the corner of Louis’ eye. “ _Blues_. They’re just. Really blue blues.”

 

It’s so cute that Louis almost calls off the entire thing. Almost. “My eyes?” he questions anyway, entertaining drunk Harry’s conversation topics.

 

“No. Blues,” Harry clarifies again, sounding almost annoyed that he has to. “And the pretty fan hats.”

 

It takes Harry getting almost uncomfortably close if Louis Tomlinson knew such boundaries for him to realize he means his eyelashes. He nearly crawls into Louis’ lap just to get a good look, which ends with his face literal centimeters from Louis’. For a split second, with Harry’s mouth so close, Louis considers downing the rest of whatever’s at their table and having an actual drunken fuck—for the prank, of course. Believability. Louis is just _dedicated_ , okay?

 

He eventually decides against it when Harry finds a way to scrunch up his long limbs enough to get his head in Louis’ lap—Louis can’t exactly take advantage of his best friend like that, nor is he willing to add that layer to their already odd, complicated relationship.

 

He deems it best to go home when Harry starts dozing off every few minutes at the table, even through the booming music and loud laughter of other intoxicated people. He waves a goodbye to the other three—Niall and Zayn give a quick, “See you soon,” while Liam eyes Harry’s head on his shoulder and shakes his head. Louis leaves without thinking too much about it.

 

Harry spends the entire cab ride home telling Louis how great he is, which is another perk to it all. He’s used to it, anyway. Harry’s always been a rather clingy drunk.

 

He has to all but carry Harry into their flat. He directs them both to his own room and thanks the heavens that they’ve shared a bed before so it isn’t awkward or questioned when he leads them there; Harry strips to his usual sleepwear of his birthday suit and crawls into the bed without a fight. Louis waits until he’s snoring to get the marriage certificate from the top drawer of his nightstand and sit it on the table right in front of Harry’s face.

 

He strips down until he’s completely naked just to _really_ sell it and gets in his bed and practically smirks himself to sleep.

 

He wakes up to Harry sitting up with his head in his hands and the certificate noticeably missing from where Louis had placed it. He tries to hide his smile when he begins shuffling around to let Harry know he’s up.

 

Harry flinches when he does; the paper would’ve flown to the floor had Harry not had a death grip on it. “Lou?”

 

His voice sounds a little fearful which already makes Louis want to assure him it’s just a joke, but he didn’t go to all of this trouble for _nothing._ “Hmm?”

 

Harry doesn’t look at him when he asks, “Do you remember last night?”

 

 _Vividly._ “No. Why?”

 

Harry thrusts the certificate in Louis’ hands without another word. Louis pretends to read it for the first time, trying to portray his best impression of someone who accidentally married their best friend the night before. It must work because Harry doesn’t look suspicious when Louis meets his gaze. “Oh.”

 

“ _Oh_? Louis, we’re _married._ Like, legally married,” Harry begins on his rant. “And we don’t even remember it! Didn’t even have a proper _date_.”

 

And that—well, Louis isn’t expecting _that_. “Huh?”

 

“Been spending _years_ trying to find a way to ask you out, and then I wake up married to you with no recollection of it whatsoever.” He pauses, noting their discarded clothes on the floor that Louis had messily arranged before he went to sleep last night. “Did we have sex too?”

 

Louis stutters. “Um—maybe?”

 

Harry flops back on Louis’ mattress and groans. “Is it possible for one day to simultaneously be the best and worst one of your life?”

 

It’s then that Louis decides it’s gone on too long. “Harry—”

 

“Suppose we’ll have time to make it up, though. Since we’re _married._ ” Harry’s eyes widen. “Wait, shit—you probably want a divorce, don’t you? Can’t blame you, really. You’ve never acted like you wanted to be tied down.”

 

Louis can’t even think straight—this whole thing has thrown him for a loop. It’s just supposed to be a prank. Harry isn’t supposed to be _okay_ with the idea of accidentally marrying his best friend, or the fact that he’s woken up naked in bed with him the morning after. He’s supposed to freak out and maybe cry a bit until Louis finally takes pity on him and tells him it’s a joke. He’s not supposed to _like_ it.

 

It’s then that the worst realization hits him: he now owes Liam a hundred pounds.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis swears loudly, rolling over into the middle of the bed until his side’s against Harry’s.

 

“Uh,” Harry begins, clearly noticing Louis’ change in mood and position.

 

“Shut up. You’re supposed to be hung over,” Louis mutters into the pillow before sleep has its reigns on him once again.

 

~~~

 

When he wakes up again, Harry’s fallen back asleep and Louis does the only logical thing he can think of: he calls Liam.

 

He answers with what was clearly a planned, “Congratulations on successfully completing your douche prank.”

 

“Liam,” Louis replies worriedly. “I need help.”

 

Liam’s curiosity is piqued. “What happened?”

 

Louis jumps into a quiet explanation of the whole thing lest he wake Harry, leaving out the entire sex discussion since he’s already done enough harm to his best friend as it is. Liam laughs his entire way through it. “Stop that, it isn’t funny.”

 

“But it is! What did I tell you?” he asks. Louis groans. “I’ll give you your money soon, okay?”

 

“Oh, keep the bloody money,” Liam answers. “What you’ve told me is prize enough.”

 

Louis sighs. “What do I do, Li?”

 

“I don’t know. He’s _your_ husband,” Liam replies unhelpfully. Everything he says after that becomes pretty unhelpful so Louis ends up calling Niall soon after which turns into nearly the same conversation. Grunting, he calls Zayn and hopes that _he_ won’t be a dick. “Zayn, you know you’re my favorite, right?”

 

Zayn returns it with a toneless, “What is it?” to which Louis launches into his third retelling of what had happened that morning. “How do I fix it?”

 

“One, you need to know you’re a twat, okay?” Louis nods and agrees. “Second, the fact that you’ve called all of us instead of doing the obvious and telling Harry the truth says enough.”

 

“I can’t just tell him,” Louis argues. “That’d make me an even bigger twat.”

 

“Spin it however you want, but you and I both know you’d tell him the truth in a heartbeat if you didn’t want him back even a little bit.”

 

Louis faux gasps. “I violently object to that.”

 

He can hear Zayn’s eye roll. “Right. In that case, my advice would be to keep it up, okay? Don’t tell him. It’ll work itself out or something like that.”

 

“None of you care about helping me,” Louis complains into the phone, and it’s only sort of a lie. But Zayn’s the only one to give him actual advice thus far and it’s better than what Louis had in mind (read: nothing) so he decides to go with it.

 

“Lou?” The voice comes from beside him instead of from the phone and Louis panics. “Bye, Zayn!” he rushes out before carelessly tossing his phone aside. “Hey, Harry.”

 

Harry smiles. “You will not _believe_ what I dreamt of—”

 

Louis sighs and reaches for the certificate to shove in Harry’s face. “Not a dream, love. I’m all yours.”

 

Harry’s face visibly pales. “So, like—all of it happened? I also made a huge fool out of myself when I found out?”

 

“’Fraid so,” Louis says. He takes pity and kisses Harry on the cheek for reassurance. “It was pretty cute, you know.”

 

Harry blushes. “And we had sex?”

 

Louis laughs. “I dunno. My bum isn’t sore, yours?” Harry shakes his head. “Then I think that’s a no.”

 

Harry pouts. “Not even a blowjob?”

 

The thought of offering Harry a quickie most definitely crosses his mind when he catches his almost-hopeful look. He’d be lying if he said Harry wasn’t very, _very_ attractive, but he couldn’t take it that far—both for his sake and for Harry’s.

 

Harry’s already moved on by the time Louis’ little internal battle is over. “It’s just weird, I think. Like, where would we even _go_ for this? _Why_ would we?”

 

Louis panics and tucks his head into Harry’s shoulder. “Talk about it after breakfast?” Harry nods and gets out of bed to head to the kitchen; Louis does _not_ eye him in all of his naked glory as he does.

 

~~~

 

They don’t talk about it after breakfast. Or after dinner (they may have slept in a bit too late), or after the X-Factor marathon, or after an intense round of monopoly that has Louis threatening that _this_ is what will bring on their divorce. They just _don’t._

 

They _do_ , however, continue acting as a married couple, which Louis discovers is pretty similar to how they act on a regular basis. Louis kinda doesn’t dwell on it. It’s _whatever_.

 

At the end of the day, they find themselves curled up together in Harry’s bed since neither have bothered to clean up the mess in Louis’. Louis’ eyes are already closed when Harry speaks up.

 

“Is it okay if I kiss you goodnight?”

 

Louis could very easily pretend to be asleep, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to turn over and kiss Harry goodnight too, and then they can cuddle each other into slumber. He doesn’t vocalize these thoughts, though; instead, he puts a hand on the back of Harry’s neck and pulls him in for what’s probably the most affectionate, least raunchy kiss Louis’ ever had.

 

He falls asleep feeling guilty because Harry doesn’t even know it’s their first kiss.

 

~~~

 

It becomes a routine. Louis will either wake up to Harry’s body beside his or not, and on the mornings he doesn’t, Harry’s already in the kitchen making something that Louis will probably find delicious no matter what. Harry goes to class while Louis somehow talks himself into going to work. On the days he’s home before Harry, he’s greeted with a terrible impression of Ricky Ricardo and an exaggeration of the _Lou_ in _Lucy_ when Harry delivers the signature, “Lucy, I’m home!” line. It’s all horribly endearing.

 

And they kiss, too. They’ve kept up the tradition of a goodnight kiss, with the addition of a “I’m going to work/uni” kiss and a “Thanks for the food” kiss and a “I kinda wish your mouth was your cock right now” kiss. They haven’t done anything about that last one yet.

 

They haven’t seen the boys since the fateful night of the prank, and Harry finally brings it up exactly three days afterward.

 

“Do you think we should tell them yet?” Harry asks. They’re watching a movie that Louis pulled out of the five dollar bin when he was at the store earlier that day, and Louis’ shoved himself underneath Harry’s arm. “The boys, I mean.”

 

Louis hums. “Suppose there’s no way around it,” he says, but on the inside he’s freaking out. He hadn’t exactly thought of what he’d do when three boys who know the truth find themselves in the same room as Harry who still _doesn’t_ know, plus the fact that now he and Harry are sort of, like, a real _thing_ —which none of the others know about, exactly.

 

“Maybe we should invite them over,” Harry starts, “and tell them then. I don’t think a phone call would be appropriate.”

 

“It wouldn’t,” Louis agrees. His heart is racing in fear. “When?”

 

Harry says the most dreaded word Louis could think of in that moment: “Tomorrow.”

 

Louis kisses him, and he classifies it as a “I’m a little scared, please comfort me” kiss. Harry doesn’t let him down.

 

~~~

 

Niall surprisingly shows up first.

 

“My boys! Turned the bachelor pad into a love shack, have ya?”

 

Louis reminds him that he isn’t supposed to know, thankful for the continuous patter of water on tile to assure him that Harry’s still in the shower. Niall laughs. “Fine, I’ll repeat it later.”

 

Liam shows up next with what appears to be a wedding gift in his arms. Louis face-palms. “ _You guys aren’t supposed to know_.”

 

Liam looks genuinely confused. “Oh— _shit_ , right, you’re supposed to be telling us. Uh.” Louis takes the gift and shoves it in the closet by their door. “Thanks, Liam, but _no_ thanks.”

 

“I thought it was clever,” Liam frowns. Louis hopes Zayn isn’t as thick.

 

But, of course, “Hey, unmarried friend Louis! What a lovely day to be single.”

 

Somehow, Harry’s still upstairs. Louis wonders if he has enough time to duct tape all of their mouths and hide them with Liam’s present before Harry comes down. Sadly, he hears Harry’s footsteps trailing down the hall.

 

Louis gives them all stern looks. “You know nothing, okay?” Harry makes his appearance before Louis can get an answer, so he just hopes _really_ hard.

 

“Hey,” Harry greets them cheerfully. Louis turns and gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Thanks for coming.”

 

Niall nudges his side. “Can I say it now?”

 

Harry’s brows furrow. “Say what?”

 

Louis steps on Niall’s foot pointedly. “Probably something about alcohol. He’s Niall, you know. Irish and stuff.”

 

“Rude,” Niall mumbles. Louis quickly realizes that they probably won’t make it through an entire meal like Harry was planning on, and he’s kind of _desperate_ here—

 

“Harry and I are married.”

 

He’s not the best when he’s desperate (unless he’s desperate for something sex-related, but. Another time).

 

Harry’s panicked face takes up the majority of the reactions: Zayn scratches his head, Liam gasps like it’s news to him, and Niall predictably utters his, “Turned the bachelor pad into a love shack!” Thankfully, Harry’s always been the oblivious type.

 

“Uh,” Harry begins, looking at all three boys to gauge their reactions. It’s then that they seem to catch up on things.

 

“Oh, yeah. We’re shocked,” Zayn says. “Not like you’ve been making literal heart eyes at each other for years.”

 

“But,” Harry interrupts. “We’re _married_.”

 

“So you skipped a few steps.” Liam shrugs. Niall throws in, “Not like Tommo’s ever been one to do things halfway either. Congratulations! I expect to be the favorite uncle.”

 

“Uncle,” Harry repeats. He looks close to passing out. Louis swats Niall’s arm. “You’ve broken him!”

 

“No! No, I just—” A switch seems to flip in Harry’s brain in that second; he turns toward the kitchen. “Let’s not let the food go to waste, yeah?”

 

Zayn, Liam, and Niall all give Louis looks like whatever’s happened is obvious and Louis is stupid for not getting it. Louis’ used to it, though, so he’s able to ignore it without a problem.

 

They act the same they have been for days now: Harry calls him things like “love” and Louis calls him “babe” and they sit a little closer than before. He was worried that it’d be awkward when the time came to be a _thing_ in front of the lads and now he’s surprised at how totally not-awkward it is.

 

Somewhere in the middle of the meal, Louis gets food on the corner of his mouth and Harry wipes it off for him. When Louis stands up for a refill, his first instinct is to ask Harry if he needs anything as well. Not that they were any different before, really; it’s just now Louis’ noticing and allowing himself to realize what it’s been implying for years. He smiles at the thought—well, either that or Harry’s adorably disgruntled face at the realization that he’s spilled water on himself. Same difference.

 

“I’ll take the liberty of asking the question on everyone’s minds,” Niall announces when their food is mostly gone. He looks pointedly between Harry and Louis. “How’s the sex?”

 

Louis rubs both hands over his face. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one curious.” He looks around the table for someone to agree, but he’s met with Zayn’s shrug and Liam’s thoughtful expression. He huffs and turns to the one he’s sure is on his side.

 

“I’d like to know too, Niall,” Harry speaks up. Louis chokes on air. “Pardon?”

 

“You guys haven’t _done it_ yet?” Niall asks, clearly shocked. “I mean—come on, nothing?”

 

“No, I think he just means _sex_ sex. Like penetration,” Liam cuts in. Niall seems to agree. “Probably working up to it, right?”

 

Louis uses his arms as a pillow when he hides his face against the table. “Not even a hand job,” Harry says. It sends Zayn into laughter at what Louis assumes is their misfortune—Harry for being sex-deprived and Louis for predictably feeling too guilty to do anything. Louis’ teetering on the edge of hating him again.

 

“For God’s sake,” Niall begins, “I cannot _believe_ you let us come over here and take up prime love-making time! You’re not getting any younger, you know. I feel guilty even sitting here.”

 

Zayn sits up. “Maybe we should leave,” he says with a hint of a smirk that looked innocent but was anything but.

 

Liam nods. “You’re right. They deserve some alone time. Newly-wed couple and all.”

 

Louis starts to say, “That’s not necessary, lads,” just as Harry cuts in with, “See you later.” Louis glances at him in faux astonishment. “Are you really gonna let them boss us into sex like that?”

 

“Not really bossing so much as bringing it up when I wouldn’t,” Harry corrects him, which is apparently the right thing to say to get Louis stuttering. Not one to relinquish control just like that and also worried that everyone’s got the wrong idea about the situation, Louis clarifies, “For the record, I’d really like to have sex with you,” without totally thinking it through.

 

Instead of the flustered response he was aiming for, Louis is met with, “Go upstairs and prove it?”

 

Louis is pretty sure they’re soul mates.

 

He listens to the boys mumble nonchalantly about how they weren’t really asking for a front row seat to foreplay (except Niall. He just whoops and cheers as Liam and Zayn drag him out the door), but the majority of his focus is on the way Harry’s staring at him.

 

Once they’re alone, Louis’ still trying to catch his body up with his brain. Harry doesn’t say anything either, just puts a gentle hand on the inside of Louis’ thigh and kisses him. Louis definitely classifies it as a sex kiss.

 

Louis instinctively brings himself closer to Harry until he’s halfway in his lap. Harry pulls him in the rest of way, keeping his hands gripped around Louis’ thighs as he situates his legs so they’re both more comfortable. Louis drops his body just enough to drag his cock against Harry’s, the kiss breaking off for a moment as Louis draws in a breath and Harry groans.

 

“Bedroom,” Harry mutters, pressing small kisses along Louis’ jaw. “Please.”

 

There’s a moment that Louis considers being a shit and asking Harry which one, but he loses his train of thought pretty quickly when Harry nibbles on his ear lobe.

 

Harry ends up running up the stairs and Louis can’t think of anything to do but follow.

 

When they get to the bedroom, Louis grabs onto Harry’s collar and gracelessly plops back onto the bed while pulling Harry with him. Harry doesn’t fight him at all, just lets Louis place him where he wants and it’s turning Louis on a lot more than it should be.

 

Louis gets Harry on his back and crawls his way up his body until he’s got a knee on both sides of him to steady himself. It hits him then that they’re _actually_ doing this—they’re going to have _sex_ , and not sex for a prank or sex one of them makes the other kinda-sorta think they could’ve possibly had. Actual sex.

 

Louis looks down at Harry’s innocent face and tears up. He’s such a terrible fake husband.

 

“Louis,” Harry begins, opening his arms and waiting for Louis to collapse into them, which he does. “We don’t have to. I wasn’t trying to let them pressure us. _I’m_ not trying to pressure _you_ , just—I’m sorry, Lou.”

 

Louis sniffles into Harry’s neck and he’d laugh if he were in the mood. He wants to tell Harry that none of those things are what’s wrong, that _he’s_ the reason for his own tears because he’s a massive, massive dickhead, but he can’t seem to get the right words gathered in his brain.

 

He stops thinking so hard and kisses Harry instead, to let him know that he’s still comfortable and definitely not mad or whatever other crazy idea probably consuming Harry’s brain. It’s the best comfort he can muster.

 

Harry kisses him back, and Louis takes that as his understanding. Louis sighs in relief and rolls off of Harry until he’s just got his head resting on his chest. He drapes one arm over Harry’s abdomen and closes his eyes.

 

Tomorrow. He’ll tell him tomorrow.

 

~~~

 

Louis wakes up uncomfortably. He’s still in his jeans for one thing (he’s 99% positive he’s got a zipper crease in his lower stomach now) and he’s alone, which hasn’t happened since the prank that managed to get he and Harry together.

 

He’s immediately filled with worry—Harry probably knew, he left because he couldn’t stand to touch Louis anymore, much less _look_ at him, and his room is probably empty because he packed up his things and called Anne to let her know he was coming home because Louis Tomlinson was an utter asshole.

 

Louis coaxes his own eyes open. He’s in Harry’s room, on Harry’s bed, surrounded by Harry’s stuff with a piece of paper beside of him. _Had class early today, didn’t want to wake you. Breakfast is in the microwave! – Harry xx_

 

Oh. So maybe Louis overreacted.

 

He’s thankful that today is his day off so he has the time to brood around the flat until Harry’s due home—which, because of his habit of oversleeping, is only an hour away.

 

He finds two waffles on a plate in the microwave and smiles because he’s practically the luckiest person in the world. He eats them in silence—and silence leads to thinking, and thinking leads to Harry.

 

He’s only able to stomach one waffle before he starts thinking about what happened last night and how much he personally _sucks_ and he’s suddenly so disgusted with himself that eating anymore doesn’t sound like such a good idea.

 

He comes to the conclusion that he’s going to tell Harry when he gets home, and he’ll be sure to keep his phone on hand to call one of the boys for the inevitable moment of “I think you should go,” that Louis won’t object to because he kinda deserves it.

 

He pathetically spends the rest of his time in Harry’s room, giving overdramatic goodbyes to inanimate objects and cocooning himself in Harry’s comforter. At least he’ll fall into the role of “psychotic ex” easily.

 

He has his eyes closed when he hears the door to their flat opening and closing, signaling Harry’s return. He quickly flips himself onto his stomach, still wrapped up in Harry’s blanket, and selfishly hopes that the monsters-under-my-bed myth is true so one of them can come and take him. “Come on, I’m an easy target. Drag me to your monster purgatory.”

 

Louis notices Harry’s footsteps are a lot closer than they were a second ago, and now they’re approaching his bed. Instead of saying anything, Harry toes off his shoes and lays face down on the bed right beside of Louis.

 

“What do you wanna go to monster purgatory for?”

 

Louis groans. “’Cause I’m a bad person.”

 

“And why is that?” Harry asks sweetly.

 

And, well. Louis has always been a “rip off the band-aid” type of guy. “We aren’t married.”

 

Harry’s calm response of, “Really?” sounds a little off in itself, but Louis answers him seriously anyway. “I made Liam make that certificate ‘cause I wanted to get back at you for putting flour in my hairdryer.”

 

Louis still has his head buried in the pillow, but he’s sure he hears a hint of a smile in Harry’s tone. “I think I need more details.”

 

“Besides the fact that I’m a giant _cock_ ,” Louis mumbles, “we didn’t have sex that night. I thought about it, but I didn’t wanna take advantage. I wasn’t expecting you to, you know, be _okay_ with marrying me so that kind of threw me for a loop. And, you know, what’s a guy to do in a situation like that? So I kinda went along with it per Zayn’s advice—who, by the way, only told me to because he knew I liked you back before I did—”

 

“You can stop,” Harry says, “I’ve heard what I needed to hear.”

 

Louis looks up at him. “You’ve got a knack for doing what I’m not expecting you to, you know? I admit to deceiving you and you aren’t—I don’t know, _kicking me out_ or something else that’s actually rational?”

 

He shocks Louis yet again; he laughs, loudly and wholeheartedly. “You ‘deceived’ me for a whole thirty minutes of my life, if you don’t count when I was sleeping.”

 

It takes Louis longer than he’d like to admit, but it clicks. “You knew?”

 

Harry’s still smiling when he replies, “Not a very good idea to talk to people on the phone about things you don’t want certain people to hear when certain people are in bed with you. I was hung over, not deaf.” He pauses. “Also weird how I was too out of it to remember anything at all from the night before, but I still signed the certificate with a steady hand?”

 

Louis scrunches his eyebrows. “Liam _sabotaged_ me, that piece of _shit—_ ”

 

“All your own fault here, love. Plus Liam was kind enough to let you keep your hundred pounds, wasn’t he?”

 

Louis stares at him. He looks smug. “I’m actually divorcing you.”

 

“I thought I’ve been a pretty good husband,” Harry begins, then pouts. As much as Louis wants to kiss it away, he’s still catching his brain up with everything as it is.

 

It’s then that something new becomes apparent to him. He can’t help his satisfied smirk. “You thought we were married when you woke up the first time.”

 

Harry finally starts to show some predictable emotion; he blushes and stares at Louis’ chest instead of his face. Louis just grins. “So you _are_ obsessed with me. Ha! You _like_ like me.”

 

Harry crosses an arm across his middle. “What was that you were saying five minutes ago? Something about Zayn knowing you liked me back before _you_ did?”

 

Louis’ suddenly not laughing anymore. “Stop saying ‘like.’ It makes you sound five.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes, but his smiling eyes betray him. He stares Louis down for a full ten seconds before beginning to sing, “Harry and Louis, sitting in a tree…”

 

“F-U-C-K-I-N-G. Except we haven’t yet,” Louis frowns. “Could forget about all our embarrassment and get naked.”

 

Harry’s grinning across his entire face. “Second smoothest pick-up line you’ve ever used. Right next to that time you married me.”

 

Louis starts kissing along Harry’s neck. “Never gonna live it down, am I?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Harry answers honestly. He kisses Louis on the mouth. Louis classifies it as a “just because” kiss.

 

~~~

 

The next day, after the both of them wake up sore all over from an indeterminable amount of sex, Harry deems it best they spend the day cleaning up their flat.

 

Louis is prepared with a “coming out of the closet” joke when Harry decides to straighten up what’s already in it. He never gets to it, because approximately five minutes after Harry walks in, he’s emerging with an unwrapped gift and puzzled look. “Why was there a toaster wrapped up in our closet?”

 

Louis face-palms. “Fucking _Liam_.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope your day is full of smiles ♥
> 
> ♡ tumblr: [zourry](http://zourry.tumblr.com) ♡


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